


Alphabet Soup

by QueerCanary (queercanary)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: As In-- I casually dip into maybe a bit smutty like five times, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort, F/F, F/M, Light Angst, Occasional violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Very light smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 13,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25322482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queercanary/pseuds/QueerCanary
Summary: An Alphabet-Themed Prompt Challenge!(I'm probably going to stretch to keep it Arrow-era Sara for the hell of it)(Teen just to be safe, subject to change)(As usual, tags will be updated with each addition)
Relationships: Nyssa al Ghul/Sara Lance, Sara Lance/Oliver Queen
Comments: 45
Kudos: 78





	1. A is for Awake

**Author's Note:**

> Sara returns from a long mission early in the morning. Injured and licking her wounds, Sara is shocked that Nyssa is Awake at that time of night-- waiting for her.

“Oh, you’re awake?” Sara asked anxiously as Nyssa silently stood in her doorway. Sara had hoped that Nyssa would be asleep in her own, significantly more comfortable, chambers, giving her time to patch herself up in secret.

“Yes.” The woman replied simply. “I knew you would be returning tonight.”

“Welcoming me home with open arms, huh?” Sara smirked, trying her best to saunter over to her girlfriend, wincing.

Nyssa’s brows immediately furrowed. The woman knew her so well that she couldn’t hide anything, Sara thought ruefully.

“You are injured?”

“It’s nothing, babe.” Sara tried to shrug nonchalantly. The look on Nyssa’s face told her that her girlfriend didn’t believe her.

Nyssa strode to meet Sara, hands immediately reaching for the hem of her tunic. Sara batted her hand away in what she hoped came across as playful. “Wow, not even a kiss first? Straight to it?”

Nyssa narrowed her eyes. “Ta-er al-Safer, you are injured. Let me see.”

Sara fought back a sigh as she lifted her arms over her head with a wince, allowing Nyssa to tug the fabric off and discard it on her bed. Nyssa couldn’t stifle the small gasp at the horrid bruising that marred Sara’s entire left side.

“It’s not that bad—” Sara tried futilely to assure her girlfriend.

Nyssa’s small and strong calloused hand danced over the bruise. “Beloved, what has happened?”

Sara swallowed, biting her lip. “Drop kick?” Sara gasped in pain as Nyssa poked at her ribs. “I don’t know, I blinked and somebody was knocking into me and I heard a crack…”

Nyssa’s dark eyes flitted back up to Sara’s face, shrouded in worry. Sara hated seeing that look in her love’s eyes, hated that this incredible woman was feeling pain because of something she had done. That’s why she had hoped that Nyssa would be sleeping soundly at 3 am.

“It’s okay, babe, really. I can take care of it.”

“Is this why you returned to your own chambers instead of coming to mine immediately?”

Sara shrugged. “I didn’t want to worry you.” She realized how lame that sounded.

Nyssa shook her head, testing her ribs again as lightly as she could. “Your breathing is shallow, Ta-er al-Safer. This indicates that you are in a significant amount of pain.”

“I mean, yeah, it hurts to breathe—” Sara’s sentence was cut off with a yelp as Nyssa’s deft fingers swiftly applied pressure.

“You have at least four broken ribs, _habibti_.” Nyssa mumbled softly. “I will return with some bindings. Please, wait patiently and let me care for you.”

Sara nodded, her gaze dropping to the carpeted floor. A few broken ribs weren’t anything worse than what she had felt before, than what she had taken care of herself before. And she hated bothering Nyssa for something so trivial. Even if the pain was bad, the treatment was simple enough.

Sara hated being a burden. Especially to her girlfriend. That’s how they had started out, with Sara as a burden: Nyssa had cleaned her, sat with her while she slept, patiently spooned dribbles of soup into her mouth until Sara had regained her strength. Sara had spent every day since then getting stronger, trying to prove to Nyssa—and herself—that she wasn’t so weak. That she could be good enough for the incredible woman. 

Letting Nyssa take care of her again felt like a return to that complete and utter weakness. Nyssa deserved someone better.

A gentle kiss on her forehead shattered Sara’s reverie. Nyssa held out a cup of tea, which Sara took and gently sipped from. Lavender green tea with a hint of ginger and lemon—to help her come down off her adrenaline and ease the sharpness of the pain. She set aside the cup gently as a signal to Nyssa to begin.

“This will not feel very good.” Nyssa warned while gently removing Sara’s bra. The woman wound the bandaged snugly around Sara’s ribs. She inhaled sharply as dozens of pinpricks of pain flared across her chest. “You should be on rest for at least tomorrow.”

Sara nodded, sucking her lip in her mouth to bite off a whimper. She hated being stuck in bed but she wasn’t in the mood to argue.

Nyssa secured the bindings as gently as possible as Sara took an experimental deep breath, satisfied when the pain was a dull thump instead of a sharp blossom. She sipped again at the tea, breathing in the soothing scent as her brain began to slowly fog over with exhaustion.

Sara found her hand reaching out to grasp as Nyssa’s forearm, embarrassingly needy. “Wait. Can you… stay? Just for tonight.”

Nyssa smiled and nodded, resting her hand on top of Sara’s. “Of course, my beloved.” She bent and removed her flats that practically served as slippers in the untiled rooms of Nanda Parbat. Nyssa held out her hand invitingly, smile warm and eyes filled with love. Sara looped their fingers together, letting Nyssa’s other hand gently take and set the empty tea cup in the basin before leading them to her bed.

“Come. Let us get some sleep.”


	2. B is for Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas and Sara's birthday. After six long years, Sara's a bit reluctant to celebrate again.  
> This meanders around for a while but I found myself unable to resist ok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The Canarrow is really really light here but I thought I'd tag it just in case.)  
> This is set sometime in the second half of S2 but somehow Laurel is in the know simply for the plot.  
> Since Arrow cannon isn't extremely explicit with time period, we are doing a soft assumption that its Christmas of 2013 and Slade hasn't attacked yet.  
> I also did some math and assuming/rounding up for ages. I couldn't find a date for when the Gambit sank (other than 2007) but Sara was born on Christmas, so I'm assuming the boat sank before her birthday-- making her 19. The rest of the ages/dates and stuff is based from the Fan Wiki.  
> Plus some not-so-subtle Ally-ship from Laurel and Felicity in a lightly veiled metaphor (because my girls are 1000% allys ok)

“Merry Christmas!!” Laurel beamed, clunking down the stairs in her heels.

“And Happy Hanukah!” Felicity teasingly retorted, straightening a candle in the menorah.

Laurel blanched. “I’m so sorry, Felicity, I keep forgetting.”

Felicity flapped her hand dismissively. “It’s fine, really. I was honestly just teasing.”

Laurel glanced around the room. There was a tiny, festively decorated tree with a small stack of presents underneath. Laurel walked over, unpacking her bulging grocery sack.

“Where is everyone? Wasn’t the party tonight?”

Felicity nodded, fiddling with some tinsel and tape. “Canary decided to run a quick patrol to kill time. Diggle’s out getting some more snacks and stuff. I have no idea where Oliver is.”

“In a worried kind of way or…” Laurel trailed off. Since finding out Oliver was the Arrow, every _I don’t know where he is_ felt so much more dangerous.

Felicity shook her head. “Sometimes he tails Canary when she’s out alone. It’s also possible he’s also out looking for a treat or doing some last minute shopping.”

“Oliver really is a last-minute-holiday kinda guy.” Laurel mused thoughtfully as she stood, brushing out her skirt. “And you know you can just call her Sara around me. I know she’s the Canary."

Felicity bit her lip and Laurel realized she had unconsciously braced herself for a signature Felicity Babble. But Felicity just lowered her eyes, shrugging. “Sara likes to be Sara. She sees the Canary as a different person—or someone she’s trying to make a different person-- and likes to keep them as separate as possible.”

“But she’s not here.” Laurel replied, cautiously.

“Yeah, but it’s good practice. I mean, it’s like her preference and just because she isn’t in the room doesn’t mean we get to ignore her feelings about her identity. In fact, ignoring her desires about it when she’s not in the room is kind of proving that you don’t actually care about her identity or feelings about it, you know? It’s like being a fake friend—smiling to her face and then talking bad behind her back. Plus, if you practice when she’s not in the room, it means you don’t really think about it when she is, so you don’t ever slip up.”

Laurel smiled, almost comforted by the return of the babble. “You’re a good friend, Felicity.” The petite blonde blushed as Diggle and Oliver breezed into the hide out.

“Sara’s not back yet?” Oliver asked evenly. Felicity shook her head. He grunted, setting a neatly folded paper sack on the metal table. “Should I be worried? Has she… said anything to you?”

Felicity shook her head, a confused look on her face. “Just that she wanted to hit the streets to kill some time. Why? Should she have said something?”

Oliver shrugged. “She’s just been acting strange the last few days.”

“What, stranger than usual?” Laurel asked wryly as Oliver and Diggle began to unpack various snacks. “Maybe she’s just tense about her—”

The sound of a motorbike cut Laurel off, signaling the group that their last member had arrived. Sara strode in, not sparing a glance to any of the decorations or people.

“Hey, Canary!” Laurel swiveled in her chair, hoping she had followed Felicity’s comment correctly. Sara gently pulled her mask and wig off and Laurel could have sworn she almost saw a content grin cross her sister’s face for a moment.

“Hey, Laurel.” Sara shed her jacket quickly before bending to unlace her boots with deft fingers. When she straightened up, Laurel decided to break her silence.

“Happy—”

Sara shot Laurel a pointed look, which she correctly interpreted as _don’t say a word about it._

“—Holidays.” Laurel finished awkwardly, slightly confused but not willing to press it.

“Thanks, you too.” Sara replied in her breathy, quiet voice.

The moment was a sharp reminder to Laurel about how much her little sister had changed—the bubbly and bright Sara that yapped endlessly about the season was gone. She was so much more subdued now. Laurel felt herself aching to see that excited, toothy grin parenthesized by perfect dimples. When they were in their late teens, Laurel had felt jealous of Sara’s smile; the way it lit up not only her face but the faces of everyone else in the room. Sara’s already natural beauty was only enhanced by that smile.

Laurel yearned to see that smile again.

҉

Sara turned behind a column with fresh clothes in her hand, just out of view to preserve some small form of modesty. While that didn’t matter in front of Team Arrow—they had already seen her in her underwear—she felt shy in front of her sister.

She knew that Laurel had gotten a brief view of a few of the scars on her back when she had come to the hospital after Sara’s “motorcycle accident”, but something in her didn’t feel ready for Laurel to see the true extent of her damage. Some things were better left to the imagination, Sara thought, and the extent of the pain Sara had endured—and still dealt with every day—seemed like the perfect thing to hide from her fretful older sister.

Sara felt incredibly relieved that she and Laurel still had that innate silent sister bond, where she could just look at Laurel and communicate her feelings. She was pretty sure that neither Felicity or Diggle knew, and Oliver seemed to have forgotten that it was Sara’s birthday.

She really didn’t mind—in fact, it all felt too good to be true. Sara was avoiding making the day about her. She was trying her damnedest to avoid any notice all together from anyone. Oliver had had to talk her into this simple gathering of Team Arrow (plus Laurel) and bribe her with a _Get of a Social Situation of Your Choice Free_ card.

If Sara had been able to, she wouldn’t have even thought the word _birthday_. She hadn’t for the past six years of her life and waking up to her mother singing Happy Birthday over the phone felt jarring and wrong. Her mother had called her to wish her well and express regret that she wasn’t going to be able to make it, and Sara had successfully convinced her father to celebrate with brunch over the next weekend-- a date just distant enough so that she could feel like it wasn't about her birthday at all.

She ran her fingers through her hair haphazardly as she stepped out from behind the column, tugging self-consciously at the hem of her oversized sweater.

Sara wanted nothing more than to snuggle into Oliver, or even sit close enough to rub knees together. The confused look on Oliver’s face when she sat just out of reach told Sara that that had been what he had been wanting himself. She shyly avoided his eyes.

“How was it?” Diggle asked, trying to break the awkward silence. “Patrol.”

Sara shrugged. “Fine, I guess. Boring. But that’s a good thing.”

“All the crazies definitely come out later on Christmas.” Felicity replied, handing Sara a warm mug of eggnog. Sara used all of her assassin discipline not to choke on the rich, creamy beverage. She had gotten so used to spicy and savory flavors that returning to the coy sweetness of American treats had been difficult.

“It’s not like I had anything better to do.” Sara shrugged, snapping a bite off a carrot. “The real fun will be later.”

“You’re going out again later?” Laurel asked, her voice tinged with sadness.

“Yes. I am a vigilante, you know. Saving people in the wee hours of the morning is kind of my job.”

“But what about sleeping?”

God, Laurel actually sounded _concerned._ “I’ll sleep in the morning. It’s not like I have anything else going on in my life.”

“Please tell me you're at least with Oliver?” Laurel asked, worry creeping in. Sara looked up suddenly, surprised. “What? I thought we had made up over it.”

“We did, I thought.” Sara responded softly. “I just figured that… you probably weren’t too thrilled.”

Laurel sighed. “I got over it pretty quick. Now I’m just worried that you’re up in that stupid clock tower all alone sleeping on some ratty old blanket.” Sara was genuinely touched at Laurel’s concern.

“No, I sleep in a cot over there now.” Laurel sighed but conceded that at least the bunker was secure, with heating and water. “Plus, it’s actually really festive in here now.” Sara joked, desperately hoping that the attention would shift away from her.

“Yes. I think some cupcakes would help us celebrate another festivity.” Oliver grinned, removing a small tin from the neat paper sack. Oliver pried the lit off carefully, revealing one of those cakes made of cupcakes and frosted over to spell a message.

“Happy Birthday?” Diggle read questioningly and Sara sighed. Felicity’s eyes got big, dashing to Sara’s face and back before she squeaked with joy.

“It’s your birthday?” She asked, the smile being torn from her face when she looked at Sara’s own decidedly unhappy countenance.

“I had hoped that you’d forgotten.” Sara whispered, closing her eyes for a moment and pushing a strand of hair back shyly.

“Wait, you _wanted_ Oliver to forget about your birthday?” Felicity did a double take. If a hunk like Oliver had made a special trip to a special bakery to get her a cake for her birthday... the thought made Felicity lightheaded. 

“Can we please just drop it?” Sara hated how whiny and desperate she sounded.

“But… why?” Even Diggle seemed completely baffled.

“Because I asked nicely.” Sara snapped dryly before letting out a heavy sigh, softening. “I… haven’t even thought about my birthday for nearly six years. And I really don’t want any of tonight to be about me. Or anything to be about me."

“They don’t celebrate birthdays in the League? Even that Nyssa woman?” Laurel asked, noticing Sara flinch at the mention of the name. She had meant to tell her sister she was bisexual but hadn't quite gotten around to it yet...

“We don’t celebrate anything.” Sara replied. Laurel and Oliver took note of the _we._ “Least of all a birthday. When you join the League, you’re supposed to leave that person behind. Celebrating their birthday is kind of counter-intuitive.”

“You don’t celebrate _anything_?” Felicity gasped. She could not imagine how dark a world without celebrations--excuses for cake and balloons-- would be.

“There is a feast the day of your pledge. I guess that kind of day becomes like your new birthday. But it’s… not really a thing afterwards.”

Felicity shook her head sadly. “I can’t imagine not having such an obvious excuse to eat exorbitant amounts of cake every year.”

Sara grinned, thankful. Felicity always managed to bring so much light into everything. She felt a fierce love for the woman for that.

“How old are you now?” Diggle asked gently.

“26.” Sara replied with a wince.

“You’re only 26?” Diggle replied, with a touch of incredulity. “I am _eleven_ years older than you?”

“Apparently.” Sara replied evenly.

“Oliver’s only two years older than you?” Felicity asked.

“Well, two and half-ish, but yeah, anymore and it would have been a lot weirder.”

“You… were really just a kid.” Diggle said softly. 

“So was Oliver.” Sara replied uncomfortably.

“But almost three years is a long time at that age. That doesn’t just apply to the sex thing. That applies to everything.” Diggle pointed out. “You were nineteen years old.”

“Can I… ask.” Laurel asked hesitantly.

Sara shrugged. “My first kill was not long after I turned twenty-one.”

“I hadn’t even done my first case study of a homicide and I was twenty-three.” Laurel mumbled.

“Yeah, I guess I grew up fast.” Sara distracted herself with a deep drought of too-sweet eggnog. Her cheeks actually smarted, and her lips twisted into a grimace. She maintained steady eye contact with the floor, shame from the attention radiating off of her.

Diggle steadily stood, popping a cork of sparkling apple juice and pouring generous helpings into Champaign flutes.

“Happy Birthday, Sara.” Diggle grinned, breaking the silence and handing her a glass. Sara was struck once again what a firm and reliable and wonderful person Diggle was.

“Happy birthday!” Felicity cheeped, ever the happy energy of the group. Laurel and Oliver echoed the sentiment, smiles on their faces.

Sara weakly rose her flute up to clink with the others in the middle of their circle, a smile on her face. “Thanks.” The mumbled shyly, squeezing Laurel’s other hand and leaning ever so slightly into Oliver.


	3. C is for Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara and Nyssa are on a mission in Russia in winter.

“Haven’t you people ever heard of  _ Never Invade Russia in Winter _ ?” Sara grumbled, hunching her shoulders against the frigid wind.

“Are you cold,  _ habibti _ ?” Nyssa asked coyly, a smile in her voice. Sara’s teeth chattered audibly, and she growled lightly as another gust of wind blew frosty flakes into their faces from the nearest window stoop.

“Only a little.” Sara grumbled, shoving her hands deeper into the grooves of her armpits.

“We will return to the hostel soon.” Nyssa promised.

“Yeah, the hostel where there’s no heating?”

“Yes, but there is a fireplace.”

“Did we get any firewood?”

“No, that is what the landlords are for.”

Sara shrugged. “And how do we know that they did leave firewood?”

“Stop being so difficult, Ta-er al-Safer.” Nyssa chided, but her voice was light and good-humored.

“No.” Sara  _ humphed _ . “If I get too difficult, then you’ll be forced to stop somewhere warm.”

“How about I warm you up?” Nyssa asked, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips.

The breath left Sara’s body for a moment, shocked at Nyssa’s blatant flirtations. “I…. I don’t think I could complain about that.”

Nyssa chuckled lightly, a hand snaking out to lightly grab Sara’s elbow, pulling her into an alley. The brick walls from shops on either side sheltered the pair from the frigid wind and blowing snow. Sara marveled at the weird stillness that they’d found.

Her contemplation didn’t last long: Nyssa shoved Sara against one of the walls with a grunt, meeting her lips in a hungry kiss. Sara’s gasp of surprise allowed Nyssa to immediately deepen the kiss, which Sara met with the desperation of one young and in love.

Nyssa’s hands roamed from Sara’s shoulders, where she had pinned her. Now, Nyssa’s strong hips took over, pressing into Sara. Her hands teased at the edge of Sara’s tightly wrapped cloak before tugging suggestively at the hem of her tunic.

Sara shrieked when Nyssa snaked Popsicle-cold hands underneath her shirt.


	4. D is for Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara wakes up in terror from a bad dream. Oliver is there to hold her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Night Terror because of PTSD (just as a warning. No actual experiences are graphically described.)

Sara awoke with a shudder and a gasp, bolting upright in bed, heart thundering painfully in her chest. Strands of hair clung to her neck and face, her pillowcase damp with sweat and her cheeks damp with tears.

“You’re okay, Sara.” A firm, warm hand began to rub comforting circles on her back as the bed dipped, someone sitting down next to her.  Sara let out a low moan of panic. 

“It’s Oliver.” The warm voice replied, reading her fear. “You’re safe. You’re at the bunker in Starling. At home. And safe.”

She realized that she was still sobbing, her panicked breaths wracking her whole body. Wave after wave of fear crashed over her, thoughts rushing through her mind:  _ Where am I? Who is this? Where am I? What’s happening to me? Where am I? _

A hand appeared on the side of her head, cupping her cheek and applying gentle pressure to pull her head into a firm chest. “Breathe with me, Sara.” The movement of the firm chest beneath her was impossible to ignore, and the heartbeat was steady and comforting. She felt her own breathing begin to even out to mirror that of the strong form that was holding her firmly, but gently.

“Ollie?” Sara choked out.

“Yes, it’s me.” Oliver replied softly, smoothing her hair. “I’m holding you. We are on the cot in the bunker, where we have been sleeping for a few days. You are safe with me.”

Sara unconsciously nuzzled closer to Oliver.

“Ollie.” Sara mumbled, comfort washing over her as she inhaled his scent and felt his protective hug. Oliver hummed lightly.

He knew a night terror when he saw one: his heart had plummeted into his stomach with despair when he returned from the bathroom and he saw Sara thrashing madly and heard her cries, which rapidly morphed into screams. He had kneeled at the side of the bed, waiting for the terror to pass before moving in to help ground her by reminding her where she was and providing her with concrete, familiar sensory information to solidify that, knowing that she would likely wake up disoriented and confused.

“Ollie.” Sara mumbled again before lightly pulling away from his tight hug.

“Do you… need to talk about it?” Oliver asked hesitantly. He hated it when other people asked him about his dreams, but maybe that was because he knew nobody would understand. Not like Sara understood. Not like he understood Sara.

She bit her lip while she tied her sweaty hair back into a ponytail. “It was… I just had a bad dream. Sometimes, they just feel a little too real.”

Oliver nodded sympathetically. “Mine, too. Apparently, occasionally, bad dreams about the things that have happened to us can trigger a panic response, even when we’re asleep.”

“I don’t sleep much.” Sara pushed herself out of the bed, pulling a sweatshirt over the tank top she slept in. “There’s really no where for me to go.” She whispered sadly after a moment. “Fear follows me everywhere. Even in my dreams.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cough cough* Saraa-Lancee on Tumblr


	5. E is for Eye Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin reassures Sara that being bisexual isn't any kind of deal breaker for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Quentin has an *actual* conversation with Sara and she *actually* says the word bisexual. Because I stand firm that Sara deserved at least one coming out scene to someone important to her and the way that her relationship with Nyssa and her whole sexuality was implied with Quentin especially boiled my soul (She’s practically daddy’s little girl, even after snapping someone's neck in front of him. They would 100000% have this conversation because Quentin is desperate to prove to Sara how much he cares about her and doesn’t want anything to drive a wedge between them.)

“Are you doing okay, honey?” Quentin asked, side-eying his younger daughter. 

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, daddy, I’m okay.”

“I can tell you’re lying because you won't make eye contact with me.” Quentin grumbled.  “Is there... something you want to talk about?” Sara shrugged, still quietly appreciative of his sensitive subtlety, fairly certain she knew just what he was hinting at. “Anything? Or... any...one?”

Sara closed her eyes for a moment, fortifying herself. “I... don’t know.” She admitted softly. “Is there some...thing... you want to talk about?”

“I could think of a few things. A few people.” Quentin replied nonchalantly, trying to nudge Sara as gently as possible. He  _ wanted  _ to talk about his daughter’s sexuality with her-- he wanted to understand her feelings. But he also wanted Sara to know, in no uncertain terms, that he loved her no matter what. He noticed her cheeks flush a little pink in response to his hint. 

His daughter’s gorgeous blue eyes hesitantly sought his after a moment. Quentin had always adored his youngest daughter’s eyes: when she was a baby, he could lose himself just staring into them. They were always such a startling color, for Dinah’s greens and his browns. And they’d always held something a little different, a little mischievous and loving.

They had something different behind them now: pain. And at this moment, shame. 

Quentin sighed. “We don’t have to talk about it if you really don’t want to, baby. I wanted to let you know that I’m open to talk about it if you want to. I’m just trying to understand you a little better.”

Sara bit her lip, eyes darting away again. She shrugged loosely. “I... don’t know what I want to say. How I want to say it.”

Quentin was silent, patient. 

“Nyssa... was my girlfriend.” Sara said quietly a few moments later. Quentin nodded slowly. 

“I figured. At least now I know I interpreted what you were saying correctly.” 

“I’m bisexual.” Sara said, shoulders sagging. All the fight leaving her body. “I like both men and women.”

“Okay.” Quentin replied. “I’m glad you told me.”

“You don’t... hate me?” The worry in her eyes tugged at Quentin’s heart-strings. She was really worried that this would be some proverbial last straw. That her sexuality could ever be something irredeemable about her in her father’s eyes.

“I could never hate you, baby girl. Especially not over something you’re born with. I love you as you are, Sara, and that includes your bisexuality.”

“What if...” Sara picked at a fingernail anxiously. “What if I married a woman?”

“Sara, you are my daughter. I love you no matter what. I just want you to be happy, for you to find someone you truly love. I couldn’t care less what their gender is. As long as they make you happy, I will be there to walk you down the aisle.”

“I love you, daddy.” Sara sobbed, wrapping her arms around him tightly.

“I love you, sweetheart.” Quentin whispered, fighting back tears as his daughter melted into the hug.

She was finally home.


	6. F is for Forgetful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyssa can't find an important keepsake and Sara is there to remind her that she wont ever forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to pop in and say there is SO much to read on the fan wiki about Nyssa (I assume if you haven’t read the comics, like me.)
> 
> Also, the radio silence probably told you I had some trouble with this one haha.

“Did you... forget?”

“Forget?!” Nyssa exclaimed, hurt. “I do not forget things, Ta-er al-Safer.”

Sara bit back a grin. “Really? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you do.”

“I am not a forgetful person.” Nyssa scoffed, eyes darting around the room with a laser-like focus. “You must be hiding it!”

“What? No!” Sara raised her hands in mock surrender. 

“This blade is very important to me, Ta-er al-Safer. My mother gifted it to me as an infant, before I was taken away. It is all I have of her.”

Sara’s joking manner softened immediately. “It’s okay, baby. We’ll find it. I promise.” Sara took a more hands-on approach to a search, beginning to nudge things around shelves. “You... don’t talk much. Of her.”

“I did not know her.” Nyssa replied simply, striding to her trunk to begin removing clothes. “She was simply another one of my father’s many concubines, and we were separated soon after I was born. I was... sickly. Weak. My father believed that bringing me here and training me hard would strengthen me. I think he saw her as a wellspring of weakness in my life. I do not believe she lived long after my birth.”

The pair searched in tense silence for a few moments, Nyssa’s cool demeanor edging towards fear.

“I... do not forget.” It was almost a mantra. Nyssa sank to her knees, small sobs wracking her shoulders. “I do not wish to forget.”

Sara bit her lip before crossing the room and sinking down next to her love. “I don't forget.” Sara replied simply. When Nyssa didn’t respond, she continued. “I know that I’m supposed to. But I don’t forget. About my family. My sister, my mom, my dad. I think about them almost every day. I don’t have anything to remember them by, and yet I still do. Remember.” 

Nyssa sniffled, looking up to capture Sara’s gaze. “You miss them.”

“With my whole heart.” Sara responded quietly. “Sometimes, I wish I didn’t remember. Remembering hurts. But... forgetting hurts so much more.”

“My mother gave her life for mine, in the end. She carried me through a difficult pregnancy for a brutal man, and delivered me successfully. My mother was strong in her own ways. She sacrificed much so that I may live, and truly, I do not believe I will ever know the full extent of her sacrifice.”

“That’s why the dagger means so much to you.” 

“Yes. My mother gave more than her life, she gave her freedom. For nine long months, she protected and nurtured me as much as she was able. And I do not know her full story. Who she was, what she was before the was a Concubine of the Demon. I do not know if she lived or died. If... she died after my birth of illness or if my father had her killed. I do not know. She... deserved more than that. The dagger is a reminder; the sacrifice I know, the one I don’t, and the part of me that is not my father.” 

Sara enfolded one of Nyssa’s hands in her own. “I know you are not your father.”

“Sometimes I worry I will forget. That I will become cruel. That I will forget how to be kind, how to love.”

Sara smiled lightly. “But you are not a forgetful person, my love.”


	7. G is for Greetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on Nyssa’s iconic “I’ve had better greetings”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started out really amazing but... I don't know, I'll leave it up to you to judge.  
> School starts Monday and I have all plans to keep writing but here's just a head's up!

“Hey, baby.” Sara grinned devilishly.

Nyssa’s eyes widened as she turned around, closing the door gently behind her.

Sara lay sprawled on her bed, naked, head propped on a fist and legs crossed at the knee as if she had any modesty to preserve.

҉

“How was your mission?” Nyssa asked, setting down the book she had been reading when Sara entered their shared chambers.

“Fine, I guess.” Sara shrugged. She removed her heavy cloak and her armor with languid yet sure movements. She paused at the sound of rustling clothing, turning to face her love with a mischievous grin on her face. With a few smooth, if short, strides, Sara crossed the room. She forced Nyssa back into her chair with a firm finger planted in the middle of her chest.

Nyssa raised an eyebrow questioningly but did not fight Sara, leaning further back. Sara quickly straddled Nyssa, greeting her lips with a hungry kiss.

“Hey, baby.” Sara murmured, resting her forehead on Nyssa’s with a comfortable smile.

҉

Nyssa hoped her approach was stealthy enough to avoid alerting the nearby woman of her arrival. It had been a long, hard day, and Nyssa wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone.

Unsurprisingly, her sneak hadn’t been good enough. It was almost like the woman had a sixth sense to detect her presence. The woman spun around, grin widening. Nyssa’s heart contracted almost painfully at the sight of the beauty, suddenly wondering why she hadn’t wanted to see the woman in the first place.

The blonde stood quickly, running across the room, feet leaving the ground as she lept into Nyssa’s arms.

Nyssa grunted with the impact, and Sara grinned. “Hey, baby.”


	8. H is for Helping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara picks a fight and Nyssa [eventually] comes to her aid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the usual, cannon-typical violence here

“Why aren’t you helping me?” Sara asked, breathless. A light smile danced across Nyssa’s lips.

“You must learn that your actions and words have consequences, Ta-er al-Safer.”

Sara grunted as her fist connected with a sharp jaw, the man snapping around his own shoulder almost comically before toppling over. Another muscular brute quickly took his place, much to Sara’s exasperation.

“ _ Nyssa! _ ” Sara growled as one of her numerous adversaries landed a punch of his own, her nose crackling sickeningly.

“This is also good training.” Nyssa said, smoothly sipping her tea. “It is very important that, when in the midst of combat, a single punch doesn’t incapacitate you.”

As if on cue, Sara crumpled to her knees, gasping her breath, clutching at her abdomen and hacking out blood, goon towering above her. Nyssa sighed, setting her teacup on the worn wooden table and standing up.

“And what are you going to do about it, little missy?” The lead thug growled, attention diverted momentarily. 

“I have decided to intercede on my companion’s behalf.” Nyssa replied calmly, either misunderstanding the rhetorical nature of his jab or choosing to ignore it. 

“Yeah, well, your little friend here needed a sharp reminder to  _ stay out of other’s business. _ Especially when those ‘others’ and their ‘business’ happens to involve running this street.”

Nyssa fought the urge to roll her eyes. Sure, she probably should have restrained Sara a bit more. Or at least tried a little harder to. But deep in her heart, Nyssa had been on her side. 

Nyssa knew very well that the role of an assassin was to blend in, moving like a shadow to get the target, not to engage in the petty squabbles of the masses. Sympathy was an emotion she had assumed that her father had beaten out of her as a young girl.

But something seemed different now. Now that she had Sara. Sara seemed to have reawakened that emotion in her again. Whether that sympathy had been jolted awake at the sight of dying Sara washed up onto the shores of Lian Yu or the tenderness of her little bird despite all the trials of the League (and whatever she had endured up to that point), she couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that she had found herself gritting her teeth to not get involved with the gang’s harassment of the tea-shop owner.

Nyssa also knew she couldn’t take any actions-- she must remain calm. No matter how alone she thought they were, any public incidents always seemed to make their way back to her father. If Ra’s found out Nyssa had engaged herself in such a way... no. But Ta-er al-Safer on the other hand... simply an apprentice? The worst that could arise from an initiate making a mistake would be a simple whipping, or perhaps an ordered vigil: a lesson taught, not a punishment for a crime. Nyssa intervening now would simply be a mentor helping preserve the life of an otherwise promising young warrior.

After all, the ensuing combat was exceedingly short, the thugs woefully weak next to the Daughter of the Demon. Nyssa planted her fist in the nearest gut, using the newly hunched form as a platform to vault from, putting her entire light frame backed by gravity against the leader’s kneecap. He fell with a crack and a rather pathetic shriek.

A handful of other gangsters glanced between the diminutive woman standing over their sobbing leader before clamoring over themselves to make it out the door. Nyssa smirked at the cowards-- all bark and no bite.

Sara was breathing heavily, still keeled over on the ground, face pale with discomfort. Surprisingly gentle, Nyssa pulled Sara to her feet and back to their table. “Let me examine your stomach.” She didn’t wait for an answer before her nimble hands danced under fabric, pressing gently. Sara groaned. “I do not detect anything that would alarm me, although you might have some particularly beautiful bruises in the coming days.” She retracted her hands as Sara just grumbled in acknowledgement, remaining reclined against the booth.

Nyssa tenderly smoothed some sweaty hair out of Sara’s face. “Perhaps next time, you will think again about how you speak to someone,  _ al-Sghyr _ .”

“He deserved it.” Sara choked out. Nyssa couldn’t help but smile at that. What a fiery spirit her little bird possessed. 

At the end of the day, Nyssa would always help Sara when she really needed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried for 'little one' in Arabic but you know... Google... so if i'm wrong let me know.
> 
> Sorry for the unannounced hiatus-- it was the first week of school + moving back into dorms after transferring to a new university so I ended up giving myself a bit of a grace period to adjust + learn my new schedule and routine but I think I've come up with a (hopefully) good posting schedule at this point.


	9. I is for Image

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity walks in to an interesting--- um, disturbing-- scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of silly fun from an internal Felicity viewpoint and also I write Bi Felicity again because I just can't stop shipping Sara and Felicity in my spare time ahah. (Also, i know nothing about tech so please don't come for me.)
> 
> Also, this is kinda smutty??? I have no idea what makes something become smut. Does this make my rating need to be Mature???   
> (also, yes I use "moaned" intentionally. i play with words. its who I am ahah)

This image would be burned into her mind forever. And what’s worse? Felicity honestly didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.  They were  _ beautiful  _ people. Good thing.  They were her team-mates and friends. Bad thing.

“Oh my god.” Felicity moaned. 

“Felicity?” Sara and Oliver asked in unison, widened eyes rounding on her.

“This was an image I did  _ not  _ need.” Felicity groaned, hand sweeping over her eyes. They were both as naked as the day they were born, and enjoying it quite thoroughly, if those sounds had been any indication.  _ Those sounds...  _ Felicity shook her head, chasing the half-formed thought away.

“You’re cute.” Sara giggled, disentangling herself to sit next to Oliver, pulling the sheet up her body. Felicity almost felt... disappointed at Sara’s display of casual modesty in front of her.  _ Please don’t flirt with me when you’re naked  _ Felicity gulped.  _ Please don’t flirt at all, actually. I might accidentally say something one day. I already accidentally say all kinds of dumb stuff to Oliver. My god.  _

“Felicity.” Oliver’s voice was firm and patient. 

“Yes?” Felicity asked, raising her eyes hesitantly, chewing on her lip. She couldn’t help but notice the angle and which Oliver was sitting, hiding something very sensitive.  _ Really? Sensitive?  _ Felicity berated herself.  _ I’m going to die if I don’t get out of here soon.  _

“Why are you here?”

“It’s the middle of the day.” Felicity replied dumbly.

“Yes, that’s why I’m asking.” Oliver tried to reply patiently.  


“I forgot my flash drive...” Felicity quickly paced to the computer desk, plucking up the sleek rectangle with clammy hands before dropping it. Sara snorted.  _ God, she can tell. She can  _ totally  _ tell. I’m going to die right here. I’m so embarrassed...  _ Felicity chased jumpily after the device. “It’s got the skeleton code to a program and... I need it. What are you guys doing here?” She squeaked.   


“Having sex.” Sara replied coolly, making Felicity fumble and nearly drop the drive again.

“I mean, yeah, I  _ saw  _ that.”

“You usually don’t come here during the day.” Sara shrugged nonchalantly. “And since my bedroom is kind of a cot in the corner over there...”

Felicity nodded quickly. “Oh, yeah. When, um. When are you getting an apartment?” 

Sara grinned again and Felicity realized she’d made a mistake. “I don’t know, as soon as my first couple of paychecks stack up I think. Why? Do you want to come by?”

Felicity felt her eyes practically bulging out of her head and she couldn’t do anything but stammer uselessly. Sara chuckled again and Oliver just sat there, unsure what to say.

“No, I just meant. I don’t want to see this again. Not that it was terrible or anything. Both of you are quite... in shape. A gorgeous shape. I just meant that I didn’t really need this image of you because now I have to figure out how to look you both in the eye tomorrow after I just saw... um. Everything. It’s not that I don’t like having you here, Sara. I  _ love  _ having you here. Not like that! I mean I would like to walk into my place of work worrying about what I’m walking into. Because you’re my friend. And it’s an awkward image. For me. As a friend.”

Sara was smiling now. “God, you’re so cute.”

Oliver interrupted, “Okay, now you have the flash-drive. Do you need anything else?”

“What?” Felicity startled. “OH! No, I’m good. I’ve got what I need. I’ve got  _ more  _ than what I need. I’m... going to leave you two to it. Have fun!”

Sara actually laughed at that one, but Felicity didn’t stay to hear what she was going to say next. She turned and scampered away, cheeks red-hot.

_ Have fun? What the hell, Felicity?! _


	10. J is for Jewelry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurel gives Sara a necklace to remind her of her home before she heads out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the beginning of season 2 of Legends, the Queen points out a necklace Sara was wearing. Sara then says the jewelry was a gift from her sister. So I decided to fill in a few plot holes (in my opinion) and write Laurel gifting Sara the canary necklace as a show of love and support. Also fair warning that in my head my girls have moments of extreme tenderness because I adore emotional vulnerability and it's what we deserve.
> 
> Another side note: I watched that scene in 2x22. Its actually a really beautiful scene. Also Why do I feel like a lot of important things in their relationship happen next to dumpsters? Honestly, relatable.

Laurel still couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before; her sister, the Black Canary. A vigilante witnesses describe as a blonde woman with hauntingly blue eyes running around her city and then a month later, her baby sister is back. 

But the moment it finally clicked in her head will be one of those moments that she remembers for the rest of her life. 

_ Racing frantically down the embattled streets, high heels slowing her, the ground too dangerous to go without. The masked, Mirakuru-enhanced soldier striding evenly and confidently ever closer to her. The only routes of escape, the alleys, were locked off behind chained security gates. In one last frantic effort, she tugged uselessly at the fence. _

_ The blonde shadow appeared on the other side of the barrier, breaking it open. “Follow me, I can get you to safety.” A firm, gloved hand wrapping around her wrist and yanking before she could even respond, awed by the commanding air of the vigilante. _

_ Laurel let the mystery woman pull her along down the cracked paving of the alley, hiding behind the storefronts. She pulled up short, yanking the masked woman to an abrupt halt. Something felt... off. Familiar? But.. that didn’t make any sense.  _

_ The woman peered at her with confusion, expression clearly puzzled even behind the mask. Laurel’s chest was heaving, heart racing with adrenaline and fear. She looked deep into those eyes, searching. Sara waited with baited breath, knowing that in this crucial moment, Laurel would either figure it out or not: the woman was not about to let Sara urge her to keep running. _

_ The air was pregnant with the pause. The realization crashed onto her like a breaking wave. “Sara.” It hadn’t been a question, it had barely been a statement-- more of a breath, an exhaled declaration. Laurel simply wrapped her sister into a tight hug, crashing into the contact with relief and joy. Sara had hugged back, lightly. A weight lifted off her shoulders-- her sister knew, and still wanted her anyway. The relief Sara felt was like a warm blanket straight from the dryer.  _

_ A crash had interrupted the sisters, and whatever walls Sara had lowered at the contact snapped roughly into place-- she was the protector again. She pulled Laurel along until the emerged out the other end of the alley, partially blocked off by a cop car with its attendant smashed through the windshield. _

_ Laurel’s first instinct was to run to the man, heels clacking obnoxiously, to make sure he was okay even though he looked very much not okay. She hadn’t noticed that Sara was walking much slower, more like trudging until she turned to announce that the cop was dead.  _

_ Sara’s heavy heart felt like an anchor. She slowly sunk onto an old produce box, swallowing around a lump forming in her throat and trying to keep taking deep breaths.  _ Don’t sink, please don’t sink... 

_ “Sara?” Laurel took a few steps forward, not so much tentative as bewildered. “Where have you been?!” It felt like an accusation even to Laurel’s ears. Sara’s face rose to meet her sister’s eyes. _

_ “Doesn’t matter.” She pursed her lips, voice impossibly soft. _

_ “Why did you come back?” Laurel’s face was painted by the blues of the wrecked cop car. _

_ “I don’t know.” Sara answered honestly, dryly. Tiredly. “There isn’t anything here for me.”  _

_ Sara sounded so exhausted, so hopeless. So empty. Laurel’s throat worked visibly to swallow, her mouth painfully dry.  _

_ Tears unexpectedly throbbed at her eyes. Laurel couldn’t have guessed how much hearing Sara think that would hurt. _

_ “You have family, Sara.” Laurel replied numbly, her own gaze focused on the ground, trying not to cry. _

_ Sara tugged off her mask and wig, shedding the parts of her outfit that fully separated the Black Canary from Sara. She knew she had family, she just wasn’t sure that the Canary did. She wasn’t sure that she and the Canary were even different people anymore. _

_ “You don’t know, Laurel.” Sara’s voice was thick with tears, her heart aching. She wanted this so, so badly. So badly nobody could understand. Yet she had to force herself away.  _

_ This is why you never got too close.  _

_ “About me. About who I am, and who I’ve become.” _

_ Laurel wasn’t going to let Sara sabotage herself so utterly so easily. _

_ “I know you’re a hero.” _

Her baby sister, a hero? It felt too crazy to be true because to be a hero was to have grown up. It felt like yesterday, Sara in pigtails, skinned knees, and freckles popping up like magic in the summer sun. Arguments over boys and stolen clothes. Water Balloon and snowball fights. That time right before college when Sara had decided she wanted bangs and that the best way to do that was safety scissors stolen from Laurel's desk. 

Sara had left a girl and come back a woman, a hero, all grown up. No more bangs or pigtails.

Laurel missed all of Sara’s growing up, Sara’s becoming a woman. Sara discovering all the little odds and ends to her identity. She felt a pang in her chest. She hadn’t been there for Sara’s bitterest tears; her tears of pain and fear and loneliness. All the really rough parts of growing up, Laurel hadn’t been there. Because Sara’s growing up had been tragedy and torture, not long nights in dorm rooms agonizing over the next class or program.

They had grown so horribly differently. And Laurel couldn't even imagine her pain.

҉

_ “I’m not a hero. Laurel...” Sara choked on the words, too painful to leave her mouth. She knew all too well that once you said something, it had the power to become reality. “I’m the furthest thing from it. I am Ta-er al-Safer. That was my new name. Because the woman that I was... the girl... that I was...” A single unbidden tear squeezed its way down her cheek. “...Is gone.” _

_ Laurel hadn’t hesitated when she strode forward, sinking to her knees in front of Sara, who had been practically cowering in front of her. Laurel was desperate to drill just this one thing into Sara’s head, if nothing else.  _

_ “I’m not going to pretend that I’ve been through anything that you have.” Laurel felt breathless, struggling to find the perfect words. “One thing that I’ve learned in the past year is that these things? They don’t break us. They make us who we are.” _

_ “And what I am? Is irredeemable.”  _

Sara remembered the look in Laurel’s eyes. It was a look that would probably be burned into her retinas until the day she died-- sadness and hopelessness. Laurel’s eyes had begged,  _ Please, don’t leave me again Sara. Please.  _

Laurel had reached frantically into the darkness, but hadn’t been able to grab onto anything, not really. Sara was just as unreachable before.

In order for someone to find you in your darkness, you have to be willing to be found. And Sara wasn’t willing.

҉

Sara hadn’t brought her voice modulator, figuring anybody that heard her voice during the chaos would be focused on more important things. That among all the chaos, nobody would even  _ really  _ hear it, would even truly listen to her. 

Although, to be fair, Sara couldn’t be sure that it was her simple sentence that had finally tipped Laurel off. Despite the mask, Sara doubted that Laurel wouldn’t have recognized her eyes or chin-- so like their fathers-- if it came down to it. Laurel also had a hint of the detective in her as well; had she noticed that the Black Canary used the same shampoo as her sister? Had it been her tone of voice, a little softer and more caring for a beloved face, out of character? 

Honestly, with Laurel, it could have been nearly anything. Either way, Sara had had a heavy pebble of dread sitting heavily in her gut. That pebble had grown into a boulder, or perhaps a hand that had latched its vice grip around her heart when Laurel had texted her, asking her to talk.

“Dad told me you’re leaving. Again.” Sara bit her lip.

“I was going to tell you. I just...”

“You’ve been pretty busy. With the entire city literally on fire and everything.” Laurel interrupted her gently. All was forgiven. “You didn’t have to stop in the middle of a crisis to tell me you were leaving again. Honestly, I figured you might.”

Laurel had found herself waking up everyday wondering if this was the day her sister was going to fly away. Sara was definitely a bird that didn’t like to be caged.  At least this time, she could get in a goodbye.

“I know you aren’t happy here. That you feel like you don’t belong.”

“I’m not sure I belong anywhere.” Sara admitted quietly, after a heavy moment. “But... this is for the best. For everyone.”

Laurel nodded. “I got you something. So that, no matter where you are, you’ll have something to remind you of home. And everything that  _ is  _ still here for you, whenever you’re ready.”  Laurel held out a small black box, gesturing for Sara to take it. With a hesitant hand, she reached out and tentatively took the box. “Open it, silly.” Laurel teased as Sara stared at the object in her hand. 

Sara lifted the lid, revealing a thin golden chain, the small golden pendant stamped with a familiar little bird. 

“It’s beautiful.” Sara gasped, tears brimming embarrassingly in her eyes. She hoped Laurel hadn’t noticed the moisture. (Laurel definitely noticed.)

“A going away present.” Laurel smiled. 

“You’re... not angry at me? For running away?”

Laurel shook her head sadly. “I don’t think you’re running. I know you, Sara, more than you think. I know that once you’ve made a promise... it’ll be a cold day in hell before Sara Lance goes back on a promise.” Laurel’s mind wandered to Cyn, to Sara’s confession about their relationship one evening while Laurel had kept Sara company at the bar before opening. “And it’ll be an even colder day in hell before anyone can convince Sara Lance not to do something she’s set her mind on.”

Sara smiled shyly. She recognized her own strong will-- hell, that stubbornness had been her ticket to survival. That stubbornness was the reason she’d been able to stand here in front of her sister, roam the streets of her home, play around with the Team, have dinners with her father. Her stubbornness might just be the best part about her.

“Besides, I can see that you feel lost. And I can see that you need to do this. Your way.”

Laurel moved to take the necklace gently. Sara turned and pulled her hair out of the way, allowing Laurel to fasten the jewelry around her neck. She turned around, beaming, fingers dancing over the delicate treasure before pulling Laurel into a hug.  “Thank you, Laurel.”

Laurel had to bite her lip hard to keep her tears from leaking. “I love you, Sara.”

They gently pulled apart and Sara tenderly rested her palm against her bigger sister’s cheek, two inch boots making them more level. Laurel realized how different her sister’s hands felt, rough calluses and blunt fingernails, an underlying strength, touch painfully gentle and fleeting.

“I will be back this time. I promise.”

Laurel felt comforted. Sara Lance always kept a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this ending made intentionally to make everyone sad about Laurel's death? Always.


	11. K is for Knives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How many knives do you have anyway?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, the original word was Kingly but I sat on that for weeks so I just googled words that begin with K to see what struck me so i could freakin write for K. I know it might be a gimme but its Sara Freaking Lance how could I ignore ‘knife’.
> 
> I know this is short but I felt like adding anything would have made it less funny and I was cracking up thinking about this one. ONe of those Short and Sweet-- too much is coying.

“How many knives do you have?” Diggle asked incredulously as Sara pulled another blade from another scarily discrete hiding place on her body and began sharpening it. 

Sara shrugged casually. “Are we counting throwing stars as knives?”

“Are we counting  _ what _ ?” Roy exclaimed from across the room. 

Sara raised an eyebrow and held up a freshly sharpened shuriken. “Do you not know what a throwing star is or...?” she trailed off.

“Okay, you are literally a ninja.” Roy gulped nervously. He realized he was lucky he’d only been zip-tied. 

“Let’s say yes, we are counting all pointed killing tools.” Diggle amended his previous statement.

“Shurikens aren’t actually used to kill people.” Sara replied. “Although you can, if you go for a major artery, or the neck. But shurikens  _ are _ used as a distraction or a method of misdirection to get your opponent to turn attention away from you.”

Roy and Diggle just exchanged bewildered expressions. “How many pointed things do you own?” Diggle tried again. Sara was grinning.

“A lady has three secrets: her age, her weight, and how many knives she is able to conceal on her person at any time.”


	12. L is for Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wait, if Diggle’s the Black Driver, then what is Sara?” Felicity asked, sipping at her glass of wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was another alteration-- it was originally links but I again was sitting on that one like ‘what does that even mean.’ and I saw a fantastic opportunity for some angst.  
> Also, was I playing with Canary imagery again? Maybe. Musical? Come on, i had to.

“Wait, if Diggle’s the Black Driver, then what is Sara?” Felicity asked, sipping at her glass of wine.

“Sara’s the Plucky Blonde.” Diggle replied immediately.

“Hey! No no! That position is filled!” Felicity shouted, tipsy and upset. “Sara is  _ not  _ plucky. Okay, maybe she’s a little plucky. But!... Wait, what’s plucky again?”

Roy rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. “ _ Having or showing determined courage in the face of extreme difficulty. _ ”

“Okay. That is... not what I thought plucky was.” Felicity sucked in a breath. “Maybe Sara is Plucky Blonde.”

Sara laughed.

Felicity’s eyes widened at the musical sound. “You have such a pretty laugh.” A hint of blush touched Sara’s freckled cheeks as she anxiously tucked her hair behind her ear, gaze fixed on the ground. She shrugged.

Sara Lance could hold her liquor. But the wine had blurred her edges just enough. She was pleasantly buzzed, warm and fuzzy, and found herself smiling at Felicity. Felicity was just so... bright. It was almost as intoxicating as the alcohol.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you laugh.” Diggle agreed. Sara’s blush deepened.

“I guess I just haven’t had anything to laugh about.” Sara shrugged, trying to brush off her obvious discomfort.

“It sounds good.” Diggle smiled kindly, sipping his beer. John Diggle did not get wine drunk.

“Happiness looks good on you.” Felicity said warmly, sobering for a moment to consider the tortured blonde. “Yes, happiness. And also pluckiness.” 

The entire group burst into light laughter again at that, Sara giggling along, trying not to blush too badly.

Happiness wasn’t so scary after all. 


	13. M is for Missed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara's finally home, and both she and Oliver are Very Happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, this might be smut? I’m not sure what’s happening I’m just writing things. If this is smut then yay? Like, obviously that's not the purpose of this piece and I'm a bit concerned it might feel a bit rushed because of it (because I'm not trying to write straight smut and i never have before....)

“God, I missed you so much, Sara.” Oliver breathed into her hair. Sara found herself grinning, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

Oliver absently tugged the sheet a little higher, Sara’s bare skin chilly beneath his hands.  Oh, those hands. Sara shivered again: this shiver having nothing to do with the chilly air. 

“Did you miss me or having sex with me?” Sara teased lightly, grin fading quickly when she saw the look on Oliver’s face. “I was just joking.” She mumbled softly.

“That’s not funny, Sara.” Oliver replied sternly. “I care about you. And I did miss you. I wondered about where you were and worried about how you were doing every day. When I thought you were dead... it haunted me. Seeing you disappear into the ocean twice-- it haunted my nightmares.” 

“I know.” Oliver sighed heavily and Sara rolled her eyes. “I thought you were dead too, at first. I also watched you disappear twice. On the Amazo, sometimes all I could think about was you. The look on your face... how your last thoughts were about me. How the last thing you saw was me ‘dying.’ And then... all I could think about was all the ways Slade could have killed you.”

Oliver’s lips hovered over her forehead, gently placing a long kiss. “Sometimes the missing hurt so much more than anything else.” He murmured, his voice thick with unexpressed sadness. 

“I know. I risked everything to come back. The missing got too much for me.”

“But you didn’t even want to see your family.” Oliver replied, genuinely puzzled.

“I couldn’t stand for them to meet the person I had become. I could stand forgetting even less.”

“Forgetting?” 

“Their voices, their faces. Their mannerisms-- who they are. If... if they were even alive.” Sara sighed, shifting to look him in the eyes. “I wouldn’t miss them anymore. They miss me either way.”

“Miss you? But you’re home now.”

Sara snorted lightly. “I’m not me anymore, Ollie.”

“I think you are.”

“And what would you know?” Sara snorted rudely, trying to pull out of his grasp. He held firm.

“I know that I love you.” His voice sounded as breathless as Sara felt. 

“You... love... me?” Sara stuttered out.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn't---”  _ have said that. _ Oliver’s sentence was cut short by a demanding kiss. Before Oliver could fully register what was happening, Sara had shifted to straddle him, her kiss fervent and passionate. He found himself responding unconsciously, his hands falling to her hips, his knee rising between her legs.

Sara knew she probably should have been embarrassed at how short she had lasted, but as she sunk back into Oliver’s chest she found herself unable to care. She felt desperate for connection. For touch. For love.

“I missed you too, Ollie.” Sara mumbled sleepily, smiling lazily. “And I think I might love you too.” Oliver absently traced the bump of a scar down her back. 

His own admission of his feelings had surprised him, but it sounded so right coming from Sara. It felt so undeniable, the stirring in his chest he had felt at her words only proving his feelings.

He knew it was true.


	14. N is for Noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just Sara and Diggle and Diggle promising to look after Sara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uncle Digg anyone?

“Jesus, Sara!” Diggle gasped, jumping. He noticed the wry grin on her face-- a grin he was surprised nobody else seemed to notice. “I have got to put a bell around your neck.”

“Sorry, Digg.” She wasn’t. Sara took a secret pride at her ability to startle the hardened army veteran. 

“You don’t make much noise. Ever.”

“I would be a poor assassin if you could hear me coming.” Diggle tried not to blanche but based on the fading of the last bit of light in her eyes, he had failed.

“You’re down here a lot.” Diggle observed, rather unhelpfully, a moment later.

“Not like I have many other choices.” Sara’s migration to a punching bag was only revealed by a dull thwap a moment later. Diggle shook his head before continuing to clean his gun.  


“I mean, you have lots of other choices, but you’re a lot like Oliver.” The dull thuds ceased for a moment. Diggle raised his eyes confidently, finding that her dull blues were staring at him as if she were deciding to run or confront. 

“What do you mean?” Ah, confront. Good.

It was Diggle’s turn to shrug nonchalantly. “I just mean that you’re a lot more alike than either of you think.” Sara’s body had turned to face him, one hand on her hip in exasperation. Diggle had to fight the inherent shiver that such terrible scars on such a young girl gave him. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You have plenty of people here for you, Sara. Just like Oliver. But you refuse to ask for help. Kind of like Oliver.”

“I don’t need your help.” Sara turned back into the bag with a vengeance. He could tell from the tension in her shoulders that he’d upset her.

“I didn’t mean me, specifically.” Diggle sighed. “You sleep in an abandoned clock tower when you spend time with at least four people every night who would be happy to help you. I mean, you’d be a great house-guest. You’re like a little mouse-- nobody would even know you’re there.”

Sara wouldn't admit it but the thought of being so utterly forgotten was almost worse than the thought of being a burden. 

“I make a lot more noise than you think, Digg.” Sara sighed, relenting her assault on the bag again, leaning against it with one steadying hand. “The darkness doesn’t go away. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it, when you least want it.”

“When you sleep.” Diggle finished. She nodded miserably, turning back to the helpless bag. “I don't think any one of us would mind a little... noise... now and again.”

“It's a vulnerability, Digg. And I can’t be vulnerable. Not in front of anyone. I’m trapped in a world with no noise.” Sara’s voice was quiet and heavy.

“If you ever want help escaping that world,” Diggle said, trying to fill his voice with the affection he felt towards the young woman, “I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, if you want updates and stuff (like when stuff happens or when im postings sometimes and things....) I actually started a writing Tumblr: Queer Canary Writes (or come hit up my personal blog Saraa-Lancee


	15. O is for Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyssa reveals to Sara that Ra's knows about their relationship. 
> 
> This is lowkey kinda fluffy though?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implications of smut but nothing like explicit. Just an FYI.   
> Also, like a bad word but not language I honestly don't think a teen wouldn't have heard before lol.

“Are we really doing this outside?” Sara gasped at the touch, suddenly nervous. Her eyes roamed over the courtyard skittishly again.

“Ta-er al-Safer, backing away from a challenge?” Nyssa teased, leaving a lingering kiss on her collarbone.

“Fuck you.” Sara grumbled, pretending defiance; Nyssa was obviously trying to bait her.

“Yes, that is the entire point I believe.” Nyssa’s hand shifted a bit lower, suggestively. Sara bit her lip painfully to prevent the groan from escaping her lips.

“What if someone sees us?” She felt a whine in her voice that she was rather ashamed of.

“It is alright, my father already knows.” Sara choked, shooting to an upright position, nearly shoving Nyssa off of the ledge.   


“ _ Ra’s al-Ghul knows WHAT?! _ ” 

Nyssa cocked her head curiously, and if Sara wasn’t so frightened, she would think it was downright adorable. “I told my father that I have taken you as my lover.”

“Why would you do that?!” Sara pushed Nyssa away rather roughly.

“So that we could be sexually intimate outside.” Nyssa responded teasingly, eyes searching Sara’s face, confused. “I found it pointless to continue to hide our relationship. I... thought you would be glad. We don't have to hide anymore.”

“Your father is going to kill me.” Sara whispered, genuinely terrified. A tear streaked down her cheek.

Nyssa clenched her jaw in frustration at her father.  _ He clouds over everything I do, everything I want, everything I am. _ She reached her hand out slowly, tenderly cupping her love’s face. “My father will not harm you. I swear it.”

“We both know that Ra’s will do whatever he wants to.” Sara sniffled, but leaned into Nyssa’s hand anyway. “And now... he’ll want me dead.”

“I love you,  _ ta-erati al-saghira. _ ” Nyssa admitted breathlessly. “More than I have ever loved anyone else. My father would not dare test me about you.”

Sara was touched, tears of panic being replaced by tears of affection. She reached up to place her hand over Nyssa’s, a small smile crossing her face.  “I love you too, Nyssa. I am glad that we can be out in the open with it. With us.”

“Me too,  _ habibti. _ ” Nyssa planted a gentle kiss on Sara’s forehead, lips lingering to tickle Sara with her exhaled breath. “I care for you too much to continue pretending there is nothing between us around others. Besides, my father is a very perceptive man, and Nanda Parbat has eyes everywhere. He would have found out eventually. Perhaps it is better that it should come from me anyway.”

Sara nodded, biting her lip sheepishly. “I know. I was... frightened. I know that Ra’s dislikes me. I... didn’t want to give him a reason. Even though I’m pretty sure I already have.”

Nyssa chuckled lightly. Ra’s hated being laughed at, and if there was one thing that Sara excelled in, it was laughter. Especially, it seemed, directed towards authority figures.  Sara’s laughter might be Nyssa’s favorite thing about her. It was boundlessly prettier than any bird song.

“You know my father does not need a reason.” Nyssa replied sadly. Sometimes, although not often, she wished she could be at least a little normal. “You are safe with me, Ta-er al-Safer. Even outside of our chambers.”

Sara blushed before hiding her face in the crook of Nyssa’s neck. Nyssa stroked her hair soothingly, lovingly. “I know. I’ve never felt so safe as I do when I’m in your arms.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intending to be ‘my little bird’ but um google translate so you know, might not be right.
> 
> Also, if you want updates and stuff (like when stuff happens or when im postings sometimes and things....) I actually started a writing Tumblr: Queer Canary Writes (or come hit up my personal blog Saraa-Lancee


	16. P is for Photo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurel tries to convince Sara she's a hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is in some casual AU timeline where Sara doesn’t leave with Nyssa after the undertaking... I didn’t really think about much of a background for it other than that. We casually mention some names of people that literally aren’t real characters but are kind of referred to that way for the sake of implying the fact that these are people and situations that Sara and Laurel have talked about before for the sake of plot and angst.

“Hey, Sara, look!” Heels clanked on the stairway excitedly. Sara fought back a groan. Those words were never good coming from her sister, especially in that tone of voice. 

“What’s up?” Sara asked, setting the knife and whetstone on the table.

Laurel grinned and tossed a newspaper down triumphantly. Sara leaned forward to read the bold headline and felt her heart drop into her stomach.  It was her. 

_ Black Canary: Hero of the People. _

Sara blinked slowly and pushed away from the counter. Laurel crossed her arms, following her sister with her eyes. “Wow, don’t get too excited.”

Sara heaved a weary sigh. She knew Laurel wouldn’t understand. Hell, she barely understood it herself. All she knew was that she was no hero. “I... don’t want a newspaper headline. I don’t want a picture. I don’t want that picture!”

“A picture of you saving a child from a burning building?” Laurel asked incredulously. “You’re a hero, Sara!”

“I’m not!” Sara shouted. She pinched the bridge of her nose, using the pain to center herself, to try to regain some control. “I’m not a hero. I’m not trying to be. I never wanted to be.”

“You walked into a burning building because some stranger begged you to save her child. That makes you a hero.”

Sara didn’t know how to respond to that-- she had to admit, the evidence was pretty incriminating. “I’m the furthest thing from a hero.” She whispered.

“Sara, good deeds aren’t negated by the bad deeds in your past.” Laurel’s gaze was stern, and she held up a finger to silence her sister before she could protest. “No matter how bad the deed,  _ especially  _ under duress. You survived, Sara! You survived to do those good deeds, not to undo your bad ones!”

“I know I can’t undo the bad ones, Laurel. I’m... not trying to. There isn’t anything I could do to redeem myself, not completely.”

“You’ve always believed in the rehabilitation of others, Sara. Always wanted Dad to give kids like Roy a second chance, to release people like Jonah from prison.”

“That’s because kids like Roy are just that--kids. And Jonah--who was dealing drugs to pay for his daughter’s cancer treatment--wasn’t the problem in that equation! But I am the problem in this equation.”

“You were just a kid too, Sara.” Laurel said softly. “You weren’t the problem in your equation, Ivo was. He didn’t give you much of a choice. But... even if he did... you made the right one.”

“What do you mean?” Sara asked, brow furrowing. 

“You’re here, Sara. You’re home with your family and friends. You’re not dead. Even if you’d had a choice, you made the right one.” Sara bit her lip, eyes troubled. Laurel sighed sadly, resting her hand on top of Sara’s. “Your past doesn’t have to define you now, or for the rest of your life. Your past should be just that... past. You have to learn from it, but more importantly you have to move on from it.”

“I... don’t think I can, Laurel.” Sara said softly. “The things I’ve seen. The things I’ve done... How am I supposed to move on?”

Laurel nudged the newspaper closer slowly with her index finger. “You take this photo. And you look at it. And you let yourself realize that there is still good inside you. Good worth fighting for. Good worth celebrating. You take this photo and use it to remind yourself that you are worth celebrating.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come party on my writing Tumblr: Queer Canary Writes (or come hit up my personal blog Saraa-Lancee)


	17. Q is for Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lance sister's have been apart for a while, and Laurel can't help but notice all the things that are different. One question in particular has been burning a whole in Laurel's brain.  
> (Warm sister content about Sara being Bi okay)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its never really established how Laurel reacts to Nyssa or feels about their relationship (and if is in season 3, I honestly can’t remember) so have a season 2-era lance sister scene  
> In this story we characterize young Sara as a shy and reluctant disaster bi because I casually headcanon that she gets most of her confidence with her identity after all her near-death experiences.

“Oh God, Sara.” Laurel groaned, sticking her tongue out in disgust and pushing the glass away.

“Come on! It’s not that bad!” Sara mocked offense. Laurel shot her a dubious look, raising one eyebrow. “It can’t be that bad...” Sara raised the virgin drink to her lips for a tentative sip before coughing, setting the glass aside with a loud clunk.

Laurel burst into laughter as Sara spluttered, dumping the liquid down the drain ruefully. “I’m trying, Laurel.” Sara whined playfully.

Laurel chuckled, resting her hand over Sara’s forearm lightly. Sara used her thumb to wipe some moisture from the corner of her eye, chest still quivering with giggles. They sat in amiable silence for a few moments, Sara returning the ingredients and wiping the glass clean before moving to the bartop itself. The bar wouldn’t be opening for another two hours, but this new Sara seemed to enjoy the physical routine of cleaning, and kept her space well organized. It was a far cry from the messy teenager Laurel remembered.

Laurel watched Sara work: her movements unbelievably smooth, arms muscular in new, unfamiliar ways, her fingernails unlacquered and boyishly short, once meticulously straightened and cared-for hair thrown into a wavy ponytail. 

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” Laurel asked suddenly, trying her best to sound nonchalant. Sara paused for only a moment, but Laurel knew her well enough, even six years later, to detect it.

“Yeah, sure. What’s up?” Sara palmed the rag nervously before setting it aside.  


“Did you love her?” 

Sara visibly flinched before leaning into the bar, hands clasped together and bottom lip between her teeth. 

“I adored her.” Sara whispered, refusing to meet Laurel’s gaze.

“She’s... pretty.” Laurel tried, the compliment hesitant and mostly empty. Sara just shrugged.

“It’s okay, Laurel.” She said a moment later, but Laurel could tell it wasn’t okay; her sister’s voice sounded dejected. “You don’t have to say... anything.”

“No, Sara. I do.” Laurel’s voice was stern, and Sara’s panicked gaze flashed up to meet hers for a split second. Laurel silently kicked herself for not thinking about how that sounded. “I mean, she’s pretty intense. And scary. But I don’t really know her well enough to make a fair judgement.” 

Sara snorted. “She poisoned you and kidnapped mom.” She said wryly. “That’s pretty much all you’d have to know.”

Laurel took Sara’s hand gently in her own, prompting her younger sister to look her in the eye. “That was the ‘scary’ part. I don’t know the good things about her.” Laurel stopped talking, hoping Sara would get the hint and tell her something. She wanted to share this with her sister.

“Well...” Sara’s gaze flickered away again as she thought. “She rescued me, after the Amazo went down. She spoon-fed me and cleaned up after me while I was recovering. She... shielded me from the League: she protected me from a lot. She... held me when I cried. She taught me how to smile again.”

Laurel felt a smile spreading across her face. Sara noticed, her brow crinkling.

“It’s not the girl thing that weirds me out, Sara. It was the assassin thing. But--” Laurel sighed, not a little surprised she was saying this. “I can tell by the way that you talk about her that you loved her, and I can tell from the way she acted that she loves you.”

“Wait, so you’re  _ not  _ upset about the girl thing?” Sara asked. Laurel smiled sadly, patting her sister’s hand.

“I’m not mad, Sara. I could never be mad at you about something like that. I guess--” Laurel sighed heavily. “I just wish that you’d told me sooner. That you’d confided in me.” Sara shrugged again, picking at the skin on her thumb. “How long? Have you known that you’re bi.”

“I don’t know.” Sara mumbled. “Since high-school, maybe? Remember when the school called Dad about me skipping Bio all the time my freshmen year?”

“Yeah, and Dad was pissed.” Laurel tried not to giggle, remembering the exasperated look on their father’s face. “And you told him that biology was gross and you hated that class.”

“Yeah, I didn’t actually. I was kind of interested in biology, even back then. But the teacher sat me next to this... girl... I had a crush on, making us lab partners. And during the first lab, I dropped a beaker and cut myself pretty badly and burst into tears.”

“Wait, really?” Laurel asked, surprised. “Didn’t Mr. Jones charge 10 bucks a beaker? Dad would definitely have found out.”

“Yeah, I guess my breakdown and blood made him feel sorry enough for me to exempt me from charges.” Sara replied, thinking back to the incident almost fondly. How little she’d been. “I didn’t really understand it at the time, but I just remember thinking to myself that I couldn’t ever show my face in that class and sit next to that girl again. Just thinking about it made me anxious. I was really... confused. Until I realized that those feelings were the same feelings I felt about that boy in Math class who offered to tutor me but I was always too much of a nervous wreck in front of to actually consider taking up his offer.”

Laurel smiled fondly, remembering the casual disaster of her sister’s early love life. “Were you with any girls in high school? College?”

“Remember Makayla?”

“You’re best friend sophomore and junior year?” Laurel raised her eyebrow and Sara cringed a little.

“Yeah, that’s the one. We were... a thing, kind of. We went to prom as a thing our junior year. And we’d make out and stuff. But not...” Sara found herself blushing a little. Nyssa hadn’t made her as completely shameless about sex as she’d thought. Not about girls, not with her sister.

Laurel audibly giggled and Sara shot her a glare. “What?” Laurel smiled. “You’re cute!”

Sara made a stink face-- Laurel knew how much she hated being called  _ cute  _ like that. “I am a woman in my late 20’s. I’m not cute.” She replied defensively, grabbing the rag again but resuming her cleaning with a small smile on her face: about as big a smile as her face featured, lately. 

“You always confided in me with boys.” Laurel said, trying not to laugh at the memories of them gossiping in her room. “And you were rarely skimpy on details.”

Sara groaned internally. “That was a horny teenager thing, Laurel. We did it to each other.”

“I know. That’s why I’m just a little surprised that...” Laurel considered her words carefully. She didn’t want to make Sara feel guilty that she hadn’t told her earlier, or make this conversation about herself. She just wanted Sara to understand that she was always there for her in her relationships. “I mean, we were really close. So close we’d talk about that kind of stuff, and we’d tease each other. I’m surprised that you wouldn’t have told me about being bi, about having those feelings.”

“I don’t remember why I didn’t tell you.” Sara replied honestly. “Maybe... I knew that we could tease each other about cute guys, but I didn’t want to think about girls like that yet. I wasn’t ready.”

“That makes sense.” Laurel replied, because it did. Sara had been silly to the point where she had hidden and avoided her insecurities, presenting a very cultivated image to everyone around her, even family. She’d always been sensitive to the ‘normal’-- what other girls around her were doing. And they definitely hadn’t been dating other girls. At least, not out in the open. 

Laurel glanced at Sara, double checking that everything was ready for opening.  _ Some things never change-- she’s always fronting, to everyone.  _ She didn’t even want to begin to imagine the pain Sara had to be hiding just under the surface. 

“Thank you for telling me.” Laurel said gently. “Even though I guess you didn’t have that much of a choice.”

“I did. I could have just run away from this conversation... like I usually do. I could have just not answered you.” Sara pointed out. “But... it kind of feels good to get it off my chest. And--” 

“To know that I still love you?” Laurel supplied when Sara’s sentence floated away. 

“Yeah.” Sara smiled, coming around the counter to sit for a precious few moments before opening. 

“Because I do.” Laurel laughed, pulling her little sister into a tight hug.

Sara found herself blinking away traitorous tears. 

“And I always will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer-- Mr. Jones isn’t a real person, just a generic name for narrative purposes and its been like 6 years since I was in that class so I can’t remember anything so just go with it lol. And also Makayla is just a random name for narrative.


	18. R is for Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so sorry for the long update... it totally wasn't me re-writting this like seven times and still being unhappy with it. I was trying so hard to let my girls be tender and show that side of Nyssa, so let me know what you think.
> 
> also, I really don’t know if I should put in the notes to tag this as a r*pe mention or not there is a segment where it is pretty heavily implied, like, more direct than usual. I (obviously) really really don’t want to upset anyone but since the mention is so cursory and vague I’m not sure... I will defer to any suggestions on the topic in the comments!
> 
> This is... pretty heavy regardless, mentioning death and stuff, so.

“Are you alright,  _ habibti _ ?” Nyssa asked, voice soft. 

“Yeah, I’m ok.” Sara replied unconvincingly, voice flat and gaze distant.

“You do not seem to enjoy the rain.” Nyssa observed, moving to sit next to her love. 

“I don’t love it.” She admitted, idly swirling the tea in her cup. Nyssa could tell that the water was cold. 

“Here it does not rain often. We usually celebrate.” Nyssa said casually, closing her eyes to relish in the settled dust and the refreshing scent. 

“I’m not much for celebrations right now.” 

“I noticed, Beloved. That is why I am here to check on you. You complain often of the choking dusts; I had assumed you would be dancing in the rain with the others.”

“I can’t believe your father lets his scary assassins  _ dance in the rain _ .” Sara snorted lightly. Nyssa grinned lightly with a small nod.

“Even my father knows that the human soul must play on occasion. The rain seems to him a harmless thing to worship.”

“Rain is too much like death.”

“What do you mean? Rain brings life; it waters the plants, it gives a drink to the parched. The absence of rain is what makes the desert a wasteland.”

“Rain also creates floods and mudslides. Rain ruins fields for crops, carrying off vital nutrients. Rain creates puddles that wear away the oldest rocks, the earth itself.” Sara pointed out numbly. “My mother used to say that rain is the tears of the dead, everyone in heaven feeling sorrow for those that they left behind to suffer.”

“Your mother was fairly grim.” Nyssa considered. “And I am the Daughter of the Demon.” She earned a wry smile for that. 

Sara shrugged. “When my grandfather died... he was the only grandparent I’d known. The others had passed before my birth. I was having a really hard time. With the loss and... with myself. My mother said that whenever it rained, it was because grandad was thinking of me and Laurel and how much he missed us, how much he wished he could be here for us.”

“That is a rather sweet, if misguided, sentiment.”

“Misguided?” 

“Perhaps saying that is a good way to make children fear the rain.” Sara shrugged, gaze still unfocused. 

“When I was a little girl, I used to roam the neighborhood with Laurel after the rains, picking up worms. The rain had tricked the worms into thinking it was safe to come out, so the worms would crawl onto the sidewalk. But the sidewalk dries out too fast for them to make it back before they suffocate. I couldn’t stand the thought of all the helpless worms dying out on the sidewalk.”

Sadness struck Nyssa like an arrow. This was another reminder that Sara had such a kind heart. A heart that wasn’t fit for this life, wasn’t fit for all the killing. What was Nyssa turning her into?

“It was raining the night the Gambit went down.” Sara murmured a moment later. Nyssa waited with baited breath; Sara rarely spoke of the terrors of that time. “It was raining the first time he touched me. The rain made him angry, made him frustrated. It rained a lot at sea.”

Nyssa felt her heart break into a thousand pieces at the thought that someone would have found the vulnerable girl and hurt her in such a way. She no longer wondered why Sara had struggled to accept intimacy at the beginnings of their relationship. 

“I will protect you, Ta-er al-Safer.” Nyssa replied breathlessly. “Nobody will ever hurt you, ever again. If anyone tries to touch you again... they will not live long enough to regret their transgression.”  Sara didn’t reply with words; she simply leaned her head against Nyssa’s shoulder, wrapping her arms tightly around one of Nyssa’s. Nyssa rubbed soothing lines along Sara’s shin with her other hand. 

“I will protect you, I swear it.”


	19. S is for Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> laurel brings Sara some supplies when she's sick with the flu  
> (just some lighthearted sister stuff, like most of these prompts by now i guess, lol)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the record, ‘sick’ was the original prompt, this has literally nothing to do with current events, the ‘flu’ is literally not a placeholder for corona or anything, I just wanted sisters taking care of sisters okay? THis is literally the innocent, regular flu, i swear.
> 
> “Snuggly” instead of snuggy because this is a name-brand free universe.

“Sara Lance? Sick?” Laurel teased, nudging her front door closed with her butt.

“Shut up!” Sara moaned, voice nasally.

Laurel pouted, and Sara launched a snotty tissue at her big sister with startling accuracy.

“This is what happens when you don’t get a flu shot!” Laurel protested lightly with a giggle. 

“I just got back, Laurel! It’s not like Nanda Parbat had a pharmacy with free flu shots.”

“Do you guys still have the black plague over there, or what? No vaccinations?” Laurel crossed her arms over her chest reproachfully.

“No, we don’t. And the United States gets between one and seventeen cases of the bubonic plague yearly.” Sara responded, blowing her nose again with a small groan. “And we had vaccines, we just got the yearly flu vaccine a bit later than our local American super-store.” 

“Fair enough.” Laurel found herself conceding. When you were a super-secret ninja organization located at a secret base in the remote desert, how  _ did  _ you get your supplies? “I brought you some stuff.” Laurel said with a grin, lifting the bursting plastic bag in the air.

“And here I thought you were here to point and laugh.” Laurel wrinkled her nose at the hitch of mucus at  _ laugh.  _ Her respect for mothers objectively increased, reflecting that in no way would she be able to take care of a sick child-- standing in the same room as her sick adult sister made her gag a little. 

“But really, thank you.” Sara wheezed after a small coughing fit. “I know that all this--” She gestured to her nose and throat “-- really grosses you out.”

Laurel smiled tightly, trying to pretend otherwise, but this new Sara was way too observant for her to get away with it.

“What happened if you got sick in Nanda Parbat?” Laurel asked, turning around in her kitchen to get her a glass of water. (Laurel had offered Sara her bed, but the younger woman had vehemently promised that the couch was more than enough. To Laurel, staying in the clock tower with the flu was non-negotiable.)

Sara shrugged, clearing her throat as gently as possible. “I didn’t really get sick, ever. I was only sick when Nyssa first rescued me, with pneumonia from being out in the water for days.” Laurel was once again hit with the circumstances of her sister’s survival and how much Sara had been through. 

“Tamiflu.” Laurel replied softly when Sara looked questioningly at the tablet in front of her. “I brought you some soup and sports drinks, to keep you hydrated. Electrolytes, or whatever.”

Sara sat further up, chasing her chin with the blanket. Her skin was pale and hair sweated down to her forehead, eyes heavily shadowed. She took the pill with an obviously painful swallow. Laurel couldn’t help the maternal feeling that swept over her, and she found herself cooing lightly while she smoothed Sara’s hair. 

“Okay, mama bird.” Sara grumbled, but obviously not bothered enough to try to duck away from the contact like usual.

“You look like shit, Sara.” Laurel said instead.

“Thanks, sis.” She coughed again and forced herself to take another swallow of water. “I’ve definitely felt worse.” 

Laurel didn’t even want to think about that. “I know.” she said instead. “But that doesn't make this any easier, or more fun.”

“You don’t have to convince me of that.” Sara shivered, trying to bundle deeper into the blanket.

“Here.” Laurel got the idea suddenly, returning to the living room with a large, fluffy mass. “You are going to wear my Snuggly.”

“Your what?”

“My Snuggly?” Laurel frowned. “The cover with appendages?” Sara just looked at her sister dubiously. “Oh my  _ god _ .” Laurel unleashed a torrent of fabric on the couch, searching for the head hole. 

“I am NOT wearing hot pink!” Sara protested bitterly, crossing her arms with a frown. 

“Give me your head.” Laurel instructed, ignoring Sara. She didn’t wait for an answer before ambushing her sister. 

“What the hell, Laurel?” Sara grumbled, hair somehow messier than before. 

“Put your arms through the arm holes!” Laurel responded, exasperated. Sara rolled her eyes exaggeratedly but complied. She couldn’t disagree with Laurel-- The Cover With Appendages™ was extremely comfortable.

Laurel had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing at the sight of her disgruntled sister enveloped in her obnoxiously pink Snuggly. She smoothed Sara’s hair again, alarmed at the heat radiating from her sister’s forehead. 

Laurel gently lowered her blinds before lighting a candle. “You need rest, Sara. Take a nap and then we’ll eat something, okay?”

Sara nodded wordlessly, her eyelids undeniably heavy. “Thank you for taking care of me, Laurel.” Sara mumbled sleepily, clearing her throat again.

“Of course, Sara. That’s what sisters do for each other.” Laurel replied, a sad smile crossing her features. “I’ll always be here for you.”


End file.
